By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
New York City is the materialization of order out of chaos. Boisterous crowds of pedestrian and vehicular traffic elegantly course through its veins on a minute-by-minute basis. Its manmade mountains, what Walt Whitman called "solid-planted spires tall shooting to the stars," mark the upward thrust of an endless hustle and bustle that begins many strata below. Imagine what you see if you make a latitudinal cut through the city, say down through Park Avenue, rendering what is called in architecturalese a "sectional drawing." From the 24th floor of Lever House downward you'll find layer after layer of people moving rapidly, so many diverse and free-flowing vectors in space carefully orchestrated by the gridiron logic shot upward. Follow your vision downward vertically to street level where cars, trucks, taxis and even Hummers slither gracefully by crowds of walkers, woggers and sometimes joggers. Take your eye below street grade, to the great hulking belly of the mechanical beast buried underneath, where you'll find the complex filigree of an underground network of communication, subways bolting, waste and debris jostling and thoughts and syllables popping and zapping all in the complex reticulation of mechanical and fiber-optic technology.
It is a place that is so predictable in its layout yet so conducive to radical invention. Martin Scorsese aptly described it as the city where individual conformity takes form through the constant one-upmanship of reinvention. It is the logic of the grid, both as it runs horizontally street by avenue and soars upward tower by elevator that makes New York so readily accessible, so easy to navigate, the place to be. For the Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas, it is New York's peculiar combination of surrealism and pragmatism that allows a harmonious life of inversion, a life of "eating oysters with boxing gloves, naked on the Nth floor."
In homage to New York's exquisite and unassailable logic of the grid, I offer a carefully calibrated overview--a taxonomy of the new, if you will--of the opening art season in the Chelsea district of Manhattan. In keeping with this logic, I have sought to bring order to motley stuff, using idea and association to bring otherwise disparate objects into closer proximity. Word rumbled through the galleries that it is one of the best opening seasons the city has seen in years. I would argue this might have something to do with the healthy balance of media. (Or in keeping with the harmony of inversion, do bad politics reap good art? A question for another review.) While video and photography made the fairest showing, there was no hegemony of one medium. After years of a predominantly Neo-Conceptualist presence in the art galleries, that is, art so iconoclastic and often dematerialized that its presence is more about its absence, this year's scene was defined by a refreshing gallimaufry of form, media and intellectual play.
If Attie tends to contain multiple media impulses in the single image, Ugo Rondinone spreads them far and wide in the broad open spaces of the Matthew Marks Gallery. Titled Long Gone Sole, the show brings together three different sculptural projects by the artist, who is also known for his expertise in video. At the back of the gallery, five translucent cast-resin trees create a striking grove of plasticine vegetation. Rondinone cast them from 100-year-old trees growing on a hilltop near Naples, near the town where his parents were born. "Rain," lines of chain pulled taut from the ceiling and fastened to the floor, bisects the gallery space. Following in front of this piece is "All Those Doors," a minimalist maze of black Plexiglas post and beams. Moving through them, one hears tiny bells ringing and sees cartoonish scribbles of white ink drawings on the sides of the posts. "Moonrise," 12 cast-rubber mask-like sculptures of human and animal faces, hangs along the wall. Altogether the pieces of the show make you feel as though you're walking through a numbingly cold and urbanized enchanted forest.